I’ve been working on Taking Orders, my memoir, for years and it is still a work in progress. I share with you this unedited draft on the 12th anniversary of Jamie’s death.
Jamie Gillis
Don’t cut what you can untie
Don’t practice disaster.
My first meal as a New York City resident was at the Jockey Club with Gael Greene, famed restaurant critic for New York Magazine. Harley Baldwin had invited me to join them for a reviewing dinner and it was there that I was introduced to the ritual of ordering whatever Gael needed to taste, then taking a bite, keeping my fork and passing the dish on with the knife to the person on my right. It was fun and a true privilege for a small town girl new right off the truck to be included and I felt overwhelmed and tongue-tied. When Gael casually asked in her husky, sexy, carefully modulated voice if I had ever had sex with a woman, I managed a stammered, “No” and she said “That’s too bad. You’re wasting half of your sexuality.” She doesn’t recall the incident but it is etched in my mind vividly. She wanted to shock me and she did.
Even before meeting her I had been filled in on Gael’s voracious sexual appetite, her exploits and seductions (she had even lived with porn star Jamie Gillis). Harley admonished me to absolutely, positively, under pain of never-getting-a-good-review-should-I choose-to-go-into-the-restaurant-business, ever go out with anyone she’d dated. We would eventually be in the same social group and that left pretty slim pickings. One day I broke the rule.
She’d discarded someone because he had remarked one evening, “Isn’t it a lovely firmament tonight?” She just could not bring herself to be with someone so affected and said sadly: “Too bad. He was so inventive.” I figured he was safe territory and had some fun but was summarily banished from the inner circle. It took a year, maybe two, for me to regain her friendship and confidence — I wrote notes, made telephone calls, but I couldn’t reach her until I cornered her at the opening of Pig Heaven and explained how sorry I was and told her that it was only desperation that had made me transgress. She said: “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” and smiled. When she put me on the list for her Citymeals on Wheels by-invitation only power lunch for women, I knew I’d been forgiven. Still I’d never been invited to one of her legendary birthday parties.
A postcard came asking me to join her at a new Turkish restaurant, Beyoglu, on December 17th and the year was 2002. That day I had been unceremoniously dumped by someone who I had been force-dating, a handsome, cultured man I was crazy about but who wasn’t attracted to me though he enjoyed my company, the dinners I hosted and the parties I was invited to. I put on my new silk, low cut Catherine Malandrino dress, Pauline Trigere gold choker, took my favorite avocado-green silk rebozo, red lipstick and looked good. But the makeup couldn’t cover all the traces of my tears so I looked sad and felt uncharacteristically vulnerable even. For once I was the kind of woman men like to rescue, take care of.
I walked in and headed straight to say hello to Gael and almost without a greeting she pointed and said “That’s Jamie Gillis.” And I thought “Great!” That’s just what I need, to meet a porn star. He had a slouchy chic look with black cargo pants, layers of tee, sweat and cotton shirts in various shades of grey and black, curly salt and pepper hair, thick, black, bushy, menacing eyebrows, long curly eyelashes and deep intense brown eyes. He was temptingly gorgeous so I just said hello and walked away, really ran for cover, to greet people I knew.
Gael’s seating arrangements are determined by fate. I was asked to pick a table number from a fishbowl and suddenly I was sitting next to my good friend Bob Harned, and to my right was Jamie Gillis.. The food was plated family style and as I served him, I saw him mentally cataloguing me as “submissive.’ He was solicitous, tender and surprisingly interesting. Over the long evening he became progressively more affectionate and rather than sexual attraction there developed a feeling of deep intimacy. I said to myself what the heck! I may as well go home with him but at the end I told him I couldn’t see him again. As a public person, with 2 grown sons, I simply was not comfortable being with someone in his chosen career. Still, he carefully wrote his cell and answering service numbers fully confident that I would soon be calling. I didn’t and forgot about him. Really.
A few days passed and he called me on Sunday while I was making dinner for myself — mushroom-barley soup, lemony salad and some mustard greens to add a bitter touch. He asked if he could join me. (For some reason, the notion that I would take the time and trouble to cook a full meal for myself alone captivated him and he repeated the story often when people inquired how we got together.) I’d asked my friends about him and mostly got good reports –never lies, always keeps dates and appointments, walks around as if he has found the secret to eternal happiness. But I was most impressed to learn that he had moved back to New York temporarily from San Francisco to care for a long-time friend and some-time girlfriend, Vallerie, who was dying from a brain tumor, so I agreed.
Jamie enjoying life in San Francisco
Still, a good friend had described him as a selfish user (undoubtedly referring to the fact that he’d traveled the world with Gael Greene, dined at the world’s best restaurants, lived with her, while partying every night at nearby Plato’s Retreat, a swingers club, in Manhattan, and I asked him about it. He was remarkably open and explained that he liked and enjoyed Gael’s company very much and said: ”Just because it isn’t a big romance, it doesn’t mean that it wasn’t a good relationship.” Even though there certainly was a lot of pain associated with his inability or unwillingness to maintain an exclusive monogamous relationship, he had managed to remain close to his ex-girlfriends and three of them, who were not involved in porn, became part of our life. We are all strikingly alike: strong, independent, intelligent, fulfilled women.
I was intrigued. The dilemma was how to break the news to my twin sons, Aaron and Rodrigo, who had been remarkably tolerant of my varied partners throughout the years (I was always on the five-year plan. ) As we were preparing the meal I casually remarked that I had met Jamie Gillis at Gael’s birthday party and had invited him for dinner. Rodrigo said: “Who’s that?” and Aaron replied: “ The porn star.” (He had actually met him while working at Rose Pistola in San Francisco where Jamie’s good friend Richard worked as a waiter. (Coincidence number 1 and you’ll see why this is important.) Rodrigo then said “MOM, for Christmas?” and I told him to not be such a stick in the mud and said “Who has a porn star for Christmas. Come on, it’ll be fun” And it was, but I still did not want to go out with him. So Rodrigo said “ Mom, look at that man’s eyes. There’s only kindness there, give him a chance. He doesn’t remember saying that , but he did, and I agreed.
Soon after meeting, we took a drive in my 2001 black Volkswagen, the perfect place for uninterrupted conversation .I asked if he knew who Marguerite Yourcenar was and he said: “Of course, she’s the author of The Memoirs of Hadrian.” I hadn’t read it but knew that the book is a seminal ”guy’s” book written in first person by a lesbian Belgian writer. I had in fact just learned of her when I was given the book Fuego, the Spanish edition of her book Feu or Fire, the story of her breakup with her lover and translator of many years, It starts by saying something like “I hope this book is never read because love is the punishment for not knowing how to live alone.,” I told him how much I regretted losing the newspaper clipping of the poem Ithaca that Maurice Templesman read at Jackie Onassis’ funeral and he said. Yes, that’s by Cavafy, the Greek poet.” I turned around and said: “Who are you?” Aren’t you a porn star and aren’t most adult film actors not given to intellectual pursuits?” He brought to mind a comic strip Penelope Descartes,Philosopher Tart, my friend Leslie Sternbergher used to publish in some hip magazines. It’s interesting that he never mentioned that he had graduated from Columbia University with honors.
We got home, looked up Cavafy and sure enough there was Ithaca and he pointed out the poem Alexandria that he said Leonard Cohen based his song Alexandra Leaving on. I was hooked. I had found someone intellectually compatible with me and with many of the same cultural references. When he asked me my birth date a little later and I said October 17th, he had an almost violent surprising reaction to my answer. He said “You’re making that up.” And I said, “Excuse me, why would I be making that up?” When he told me that was Vallerie’s birthday too and I must’ve found out and made that up because I knew how much she meant to him, I was flabbergasted. Not only was he being incredibly presumptuous but the notion was ridiculous. Still it was coincidence number 2 and I was soon to learn what a large part they played in Jamie’s vision of the world. Number three was that my friend, Linda Stasi’s longtime companion, Sid Davidoff played poker with him 30 years earlier, and, freakier still, number four was that my dear friend Lesley’s husband Larry Cantor had been in the same theater group when Jamie was a very young Shakespearean actor. By the time we learned that Pam’s new boyfriend had been at the same kibbutz in Israel we were a couple.
It had not been easy to arrive at that stage. He and another ex-boyfriend took care of Vallerie 24-7. They took her to the doctor, distracted her by taking her on walks, movies and lunch, all on their own dime and Jamie had limited funds. He was staying at a friend’s apartment on his days off and, little by little, he started spending them with me instead. She was deteriorating fast and he would wail like a wounded animal at the unfairness of it all while pounding on the wall. It was heart wrenching to see him suffer so. I’d cook dinner keeping Vallerie’s dislike of garlic and onion in mind and making enough so he could take the leftovers to her the next day. He never appreciated it for some reason and seemed to think I had an ulterior motive. I often questioned what I was doing with this man who obviously deeply cared for this dying woman but he assured me that he loved her like a little sister. I decided to protect myself and never gave myself to him completely so not for me the giddy, in the clouds feeling of a new relationship but rather a friendship born of shared pain: it was a tragedy that she was dying and that there was something unresolved between them that would now never be settled.
Because I had insisted that he get tested for HIV before becoming more intimate and it was the week between Christmas and New Year, the doctor was away, we didn’t get the results until around the January 6th . Meantime, the doctor had put me on some super strong viral medication that nearly killed me and may have caused some neurological damage. I was so sick that it was the first and only time I missed being at the restaurant to welcome the New Year.
But during that time we really got to know each other, I asked how he felt about his career. He told me that he wasn’t ashamed but neither was he proud though he was convinced his movies liberated many people. He started in the business in the late 70’s, the apex of sexual revolution. My only exposure to porn to that date had been to go as a newly wed to watch both Deep Throat and The Devil and Miss Jones in a trailer in more liberal New Mexico, a state that zigzags in and out of El Paso, Texas. My husband wanted to hide but we knew so many people there, so much to his consternation, I spent the evening saying hello to everyone. After working with prostitutes as a social worker and learning that many of them were there of their own choice, I don’t always buy the “I was forced to do this” argument,” Many people adamantly disapprove of porn, publicly at least, and did not like my attitude, so my main concern about being with him was professional. I had just signed a licensing contract for a product line at Wal-Mart and knew that they would be less than pleased if they discovered that I was seeing a porn star. I also didn’t know how the food press would react. Plus I had also looked him up on the internet and had been disturbed by some of the things I read there that went against my core beliefs and prior experience, particularly his penchant for S&M. But I was starting to be able to separate the actor from the man and this was a gentle man, of great depth, a true dichotomy.
We started exploring the logistics of living together .We worked out our financial arrangements. He would cover his expenses and get medical insurance. Most important was that he would have to agree to an exclusive relationship. This would prove to be the most challenging aspect. He had never been monogamous and truly did not understand why I felt that way . He assured me that to him occasional trysts would mean nothing. To him, maybe, but to me it was crucial. I did not want to be worrying where he was if he was late. Never mind the risk of contracting some disease. Besides. that was the agreement. Finally, I got sick of his whining and told him to take all his stuff and get the hell out of my house and life. Tracey, his last girlfriend before me, pointed out that the way we lived would be good way for him to grow old. He stopped insisting and we started building a mutually satisfying relationship.
Jamie had not had a home since his teenage years and here he was the lord of the manor , a four-story house in midtown Manhattan with a 70-foot garden. There he spent hours thinking or reading on a hammock in good weather.
Still summer was difficult. He’d see young women with short shorts or tiny mini skirts , no bras and sheer tops and he’d go nuts. I’ve always enjoyed the company of young people and have many young friends. They’ve kept me in the loop about trends in all fields: style. dining, and music they like. At my restaurant, ‘’Id listen to their stories of lost loves, dashed dreams. insecurities brought by unthinking parents and vicious workmates. I was basically mentoring them and most are still close friends, I’d invite them to our house and Jamie was thrilled. They sought his counsel and entertained us. Somehow that did the trick
But there was still the matter of his career to discuss. I said to him: “Jamie, I don’t mind being with a porn legend but I refuse to live with an aging, working porn star.” At this point he wasn’t actually doing sex scenes but, even worse in my mind, he was shooting S&M videos, getting paid a pittance and doing them for pure enjoyment. He said “Who am I going to hit?” I got him a punching bag. There was a lot of anger in this man.” As a former social worker, I probed and discovered that he’d had a childhood of neglect from a philandering, irresponsible father and an overworked, overburdened ,abandoned and undemonstrative mother of six. He had not even contacted his family since he’d been back and, family being very important to me, I urged him to see them. He arranged a date but didn’t want to take me. It was only when his brother Wayne accused him of being ashamed of them that he relented and made a plan to visit.
We agreed to pick his oldest sister Phyllis up after being instructed erby her that I was not to dress up. Her first words to me were: “I told you not to dress up.” I said: “I’m not, I don’t have a casual look.” Jamie was furious and said : See why I didn’t want to bring you?” I wasn’t angry, just floored and mildly amused that someone I didn’t know would have the gall to tell me how to dress. We got to Wayne’s house and he and his wife Pat (teasingly called “pretty, perfect, passionate Pat) by her numerous brothers and sisters opened the door and immediately asked me “So who is more handsome?” Those were her first words to me. I was soon to learn that all six family members are somewhat quirky but lovable and became close to many of them. They have a real sense of family. I love that.
He has natural elegance or as my high society friend, Jill Spalding said: “He’s aristocratic even in his cargo pants and jean shirt. Don’t let him out of your sight!” His tact and exquisite use of language taught me how to carefully construct every sentence when I had a point to make. Id ask him “How do you think I should say this?” We both loved words and it might take us a whole evening to construct the perfect invitation or thank you card because every single word had to convey the exact message.
Ironically, the one area that was, at the beginning, least satisfying, emotionally. though not physically was sex. .Jamie could be tender and loving before and after but not during. Still I can’t complain! I’d get up early and work for a few hours then go back upstairs to be with Jamie when he woke up. Jamie loved to eat well and had a privileged palate honed by Gael. We usually had dinner at my restaurant twice a week, go out out to other places once, I would cook other days. We’d plan our menu for those evenings and make a shopping list. He enjoyed going all over the city to pick up the best ingredients. If he couldn’t find something, he’d call, almost crying, to tell me. He knew that I like to look forward to enjoying certain flavors, and hated to disappoint. I’d tell him that I had already savored the dish in my mind and would make something else. If it was particularly good, he’d lament because we hadn’t invite someone to share it with! One evening Aaron came by and said in Spanish:”Este hombre come major que nadie en Nueva York”(This man eats better than anyone in New York and I replied, Yes, but so do I!)
Some of his favorite dishes were stuffed breast of veal, Catalan lamb and bean cassoulet (a pain to make but worth it), pig, veal, chicken, and fish heads,briny oysters, langoustines with large heads impaled on a rosemary twig. He was a sensual man. He’d suck the marrow out of chicken bones and chew on them and the grizzle until only a little pile was left on the plate It took some time to get used to! At a fruit stand, he’d pick up a ripe peach and breathe deeply. sometimes for an uncomfortable length of time.
It was hard for Jamie to believe that people liked him despite his career and reputation but the attention he got when we dined at Zarela bolstered his self confidence . He’d sit at the head of Table 10, arms open in a welcoming posture and an amazing variety of customers–neurologists, lawyers, stars, chefs, you name it– would salute and say “love your work!” We’d invite some regulars to join us for an after-dinner drink and many are dear friends now. On any given night, the likes of ninety-five year old Budd Schulberg, author of On the Waterfront, Grove Press publisher Barney Rosset, legendary editor Gordon Lish and hipsters like Gilbert Gottfried, Penn Jillette, Mark Jacobson, Lou DiBella and Ratso Sloman would grace our table. I still love to hang out with “the guys” Lest you think we are misogynists their mates and my girlfriends are no simple “elephant keepers” but accomplished persons on their own.
I only wish I could’ve recorded every conversation instead of keeping only snippets in my head here and there. Stories like Jill Spalding’s account of a chayonu, a Japanese tea ceremony at the home of a very wealthy businessman who gave each guest a beautifully wrapped box to be opened at the end of dinner in the garden and thousands of fireflies flew into the night. That reminded me of something Dona Carmen Virués de Izaguirre of Xico, Veracruz shared with me. When she and her husband were courting in the village with no street lights, he told her to put a firefly in her left pocket and he would find her. And the anecdotes flowed as one story brought to mind others.
What made living with Jamie mostly a joy was his deep understanding of women and how important it is for most to feel that they look good. He had a way of always saying the right thing–making me feel pretty even if or particularly because I had no make up on, voluptuous instead of overweight, ripe and interesting instead of older. I am not taking to aging well and he was remarkably patient with my constant need for reassurance. Every weekend he go e a VHS at ? and we saw many films (in order) of Jean Renoir, Truffault, Visconti, Bunuel, and on and on. He’d quote Shakespeare sonnets and we’d dance to our song, Since I Met You Baby by Ivory Joe Hunter. Most of all. Jamie was naturally most considerate. If I was writing, he’d listen to the radio or television on headphones and ALWAYS put the toilet seat down after using!
Jamie needed a lot of space and privacy and so do I. I never once asked who was on the phone. even if he got up from the dinner table and go into the garden to take the call. I never asked him where he was going or where he had been. We never discussed money. Our relationship worked because he had a whole floor to himself, and I never went into his room without knocking. Most importantly, he had his own bathroom which by the way, is one key for a happy household.
Jamie was what we call in Spanish detallista, a hard to translate word because it describes someone who takes the other person’s personality, needs, and taste into consideration when dealing with them particularly when choosing a present or bringing home something I love to eat. His gifts were meaningful though not expensive, a hand made of soap with a heart in its palm chosen without knowing that “ mi corazon en mi mano” (my heart in my hand) is a the quintessential Mexican expression of love. Or the book of love letters written by famous people reproduced in their original handwriting and stationery, down to the envelope and stamp.that he gave me on our first Valentine’s Day together. But the best gift of all was when he spent months researching the history of my landmark house and making me feel a part of New York history like Muriel Draper and Perdita Shaffner, daughter of the poet HD, who lived her before us and had literary salons just like I host, (This research was mostly conducted at the Columbia University Architecture Library which is only available for graduates of the school. He was directed to get an ID and it was one of the proudest and validating moments in his life!)
That’s not say everything is peaches and roses. He could not stand criticism of any kind, never admitted when he is wrong and will absolutely never say he was sorry,
In his own words he was ‘ a self-contained, self-absorbed, selfish loner who will only give or make an effort if asked Sometimes, I’d say or do something that he didn’t approve of he’ll tell me he wouldn’t do that. I would quote Anais Nin
:“Things are not as they are. Things are as we are.
Rather than explode right there, Jamie would utter his favorite quote: Don’t cut what you can untie.’.
He carefully chose the perfect card for each occasion but my heart nearly broke when I read the one he gave me on our last anniversary and I quote it: “I may be a little wobbly and on the brink of extinction like many of my frog friends (He loved frogs) BUT’
“I want you to know that, even on our worst day, I never gave any real thought to going anywhere else, or being with anyone else.You have on occasion mentioned that you thought you had me hooked when you served me at Gael’s party . The truth is I was instantly captivated by your spirit and your smile, which I still recall as being perhaps the warmest and most glowing I have ever seen. Serving me was a ice touch, but I would’ve never let you go. Happy 7th anniversary. Your ,man
He left me this card on my birthday:
“This card is to be kept in reserve for the years still to come when you may not receive something from me but this wish I make for you now: Your ever loving Jamie.”
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